


stand fast, faithful one

by jeannedarc



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Anal Sex, Biting, Blasphemy, Blood, Church Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, No Beta we ride at dawn, Oral Sex, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannedarc/pseuds/jeannedarc
Summary: Mark's schedule doesn't permit him Sunday mornings anymore. It does, however, allow him Wednesday evenings, when the congregation has left and only the echoes of their prayers still remain.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 27
Kudos: 174





	stand fast, faithful one

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to line for this idea and rome giving it the lookie-loo for any enormous errors before i posted ♥

There was a time in which these hallowed halls might have offered Mark solace. Empty, they remind him of youth spent knelt at the altar, hands clasped in prayer, waiting for God to show him some sign that things would get better, easier. That his parents would get along better or that he’d get passing grades on his math exams, that the cute upperclassman he’d spent all of a year crushing on would finally notice him.

Simpler days, he supposes now.

Today, it is nearing summer, but there is still a chill in the air, which he notes in the way he tugs his light jacket tighter around his frame. He isn’t sure what he believes in at his age, too world-weary for anything that might need constant replenishing. His schedule doesn’t really permit him Sunday mornings anymore. It does, however, give him Wednesday nights, after the congregation has dispersed.

The Methodists, he’s long since decided, can’t quite compare. He misses the drama of cathedrals, albeit in a distant, nonspecific way. 

Right. Wednesday night. The scene is Mark Lee in the back of a chapel, lined with chairs that are empty but linger with the heat of bodies they still remember from perhaps an hour previous, if that. The chapel itself is cold. He is still fighting a chill that the late hour of night had dug into his bones. The walls echo worship offered to God Almighty: in voice, in prayer, in the acoustic guitar that was used for the nontraditional midweek service. He is meant to meet someone here. It is a date they have kept for as long as Mark has lived on this side of town, though he can’t particularly say why he keeps it. 

The room fills with the breath of people who’d shuffled out long ago, their memory just enough for a church to bear. He shivers.

He is not cold for long.

All at once, arms wrap around his middle. A mouth presses to the pulse in the side of his neck. He jerks away without meaning to, startle reflex stronger than desire.

“Ah,” sighs the demon, lips warm and full against his ear. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, you know that?”

“Yuta,” Mark says, lifting his shoulder until it is tightly pressed into the side of his neck. “You scared me. You have to, like, say ‘hello’ if you’re going to sneak up on me.”

“Then it wouldn’t be sneaking up on you,” Yuta disagrees. He sinks his teeth into the supple flesh of Mark’s earlobe, tugging at it, already raring to go. “Have you been well? Taking good care of yourself?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Mark points out. His nervous chuckle spreads across the space. “I’ve been thinking…” He swallows thickly around the dry lump in his throat. “Why do we meet here?”

Yuta seems to think on this, the hands that had been patting blindly at Mark’s hips slowing to a stop. “Because it’s comfortable for you here,” he says at last. “Would you prefer we meet somewhere else?”

Now Mark pauses. “No, I don’t think so.” He doesn’t have a good reason for changing, nor one for asking in the first place, and though Yuta would never go out of his way to make him feel so, Mark is sure he is foolish for even vaguely suggesting a change. “What about you? Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Only as much as I can when you’re not around.” The vague sensation of being felt up is replaced by a squeeze so tight that Mark forgets how necessary breathing is to his survival. “It’s hard. When you aren’t around I’m so _tired_ , Mark. You know that.”

At last Mark turns in Yuta’s hold, faces him, staring up at him with chin lowered and bottom lip dimpled beneath his top teeth. Yuta cradles his jaw carefully, tries to get him to look up, but Mark refuses. “You could always see someone else, couldn’t you? If you needed. You aren’t, uh, beholden to me.”

Yuta does not like that. His hand slips from the hinge of Mark’s jaw to the swell of his throat, a thumb pressing gingerly into his Adam’s apple. “Do you like that? The thought of sharing me with someone else? Someone common?” He narrows his eyes just slightly, and though the effect is subtle it’s immediate. A shudder rumbles its way down Mark’s spine. “I didn’t think so. We have a deal, after all. I would hate for one or both of us to break that.”

“Would you?” Mark mumbles, cheeks burning. How unlike him, to nearly incur punishment so early into their regular meetings.

Already, Yuta is less wilted than he might have been. He looks stronger. More vital. There’s a glow to him that Mark has always found irresistible, behind his brilliant eyes, beneath the surface of his flawless skin. Even in the simple outfit he’d chosen for the evening -- slacks, a button-up shirt, hair mussed slightly from the wind that must have dragged its fingers across him on his way in -- he looks gorgeous enough for veneration.

It would be stupid of Mark to deny any living thing life. Least of all one like Yuta, who has existed far longer than Mark can imagine. He takes Mark by the hand and leads him to the stage on which the preacher delivers his sermons with the confidence that Mark himself rarely achieves. “You came ready, didn’t you?” Yuta’s question echoes in the high rafters. Though the stage itself is dark, there are occasional lights -- emergency beams -- that guide their way. Not that it matters. Mark has long since learned Yuta can see perfectly in the dark. “I know you’d never want to disappoint me.”

Mark swallows heavily. He did. He has looked forward to the ritual of a Wednesday night, after all. It is starting to interrupt his work habits. His studying. His sleeping. 

He stands center stage, suddenly aware in an active way of the thing buried inside him. A gift, Yuta had said some time ago, when it had become apparent that these meetings were going to be more regular. Mark would never admit it, but the plug comes in handy in the in-between, too, since going without for a few days at this point is more than he can stomach. 

Yuta perches at the edge of the stage and watches Mark with that intent gaze of his. He has always been a quick study, Mark would reason, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take his time. “Why are you here, Mark Lee?” he asks in a low rumble. The edges of his words rasp with wanting that even Yuta, an old hand at seduction and draining the desire of others, cannot conceal effectively.

“To fulfil my pact with you, demon,” Mark says, and he, too, is anticipating. Though this is all old hat, every time his nerves jangle from every inch of his skin set aflame. He was cold before, but not anymore -- not with Yuta’s stare fixed upon him. “We agreed that I would help you survive.”

“Show me your devotion,” Yuta commands. “Show me how badly you want to keep me alive.”

This is not part of the play.

Mark blinks once, twice, hands reaching up to do something, though what that something is even he doesn’t know. Yuta makes a vague gesture of his own, tugging at the collar of his button-up shirt. Mark, too, is a quick study, and a voracious learner. Though this is a new aspect of the ritual that sustains them, he adapts. The jacket goes first, crinkling to the floor in a heap a few feet away. Then the shirt gets cast aside too.

“Slow down.”

There isn’t even much left, but Mark savours the sensation of being watched. It is with careful fingers that he unbuckles his belt. Deliberation in the way he slides it out of the loops on his jeans. When he starts to unbutton those, too, Yuta tuts. “Turn around. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you.”

Mark’s shoulders lift to his ears, face crimson, a sheepish whine of protest escaping from between his lips. He claps his hand to his mouth just a moment too late to keep the sound inside. 

“Do you not wish to please your demon?” Yuta asks, and Mark does not have to look at him to be able to see the sceptical expression he’s wearing.

“I want to please you,” says Mark quietly, “always.” He works open his fly, slowly shucks his jeans away.

“Stay where you are.” Yuta’s footsteps across the stage echo in the chapel. “I want you to close your eyes for me, my darling. Can you do that for me?” Mark obliges. His hair stands on end knowing that Yuta is bridging the gap between the pair of them. “I want you to imagine doing this in front of everyone.”

Mark makes a distressed noise, somewhere between a yelp and a cough. Yuta’s slender fingers fit around his wrist, thumb dragging over his pulse. “What?” he asks, sure he’s heard correctly but needing to hear it again.

“Imagine we are doing this for the Sunday morning service,” Yuta repeats, patient as he’s ever been. “Imagine all their worshipful eyes on you as you call out to your demon, that he might drink from you until he is sated.” The husk in Yuta’s voice deepens. He must be inching closer, though Mark cannot see. “Keep your eyes closed, please. Imagine for me how beautiful you would look pinned beneath me as I sucked your life force right out of you.” 

A hiss leaves Mark’s throat, passing through gritted teeth. “Do you want that? To show me off in front of everyone?” He chuckles, danger resounding in his head, church bells that he’s ringing himself. “I thought I was just for you.”

He’s pretty brave for a man standing before an incubus in little more than his underwear.

“You are,” Yuta tuts. His hands cup either of Mark’s shoulders, thumbs grazing electric over his skin. “But maybe I’d like to show someone just how much you like it when I hurt you.”

His dick jolts in his boxers; he is so painfully hard just from the conversation, barely touched by the devil who has come to save his life. He can’t help it. That makes the whining he does all the more pathetic, in his own estimation. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Is that what you want?”

He kicks out of his shoes, eyes still closed as he listens to them clatter across the stage. “Yes,” he says when silence has resettled.

“Have you been waiting for me to come back to you?”

“Always,” Mark says with a sigh. Yuta’s hands wander down his chest, his abdomen, the jut of his hips. His fingers hook in the elastic of his boxers. “I’m always waiting for you.”

“And why is that?” Yuta’s skill in divesting Mark of the thin shred of clothing he still wears leaves Mark’s breath caught in his lungs. “Are you that weak-willed? What does your God think of you waiting to fuck an unnatural thing like me? Shouldn’t you be strong for Him?”

Mark takes a breath, anticipating. His cock twitches heavily between his thighs again, this time at the breath that tickles against the length, at the neat mass of curls at its base. “Do you think God is watching every time you fuck me?” He threads his fingers through strands of Yuta’s white hair, blunt nails digging into his scalp. Yuta makes a noise of reproach, and when Mark at last opens his eyes it’s to see impatience in his stare as he trains it up at Mark.

“I hope He is,” Yuta says on an exhale, “because if not, He’s missing out on His most beautiful creation.” Then he swallows down Mark’s cock in one swift, practised motion. 

Mark’s knees buckle almost immediately, so good is Yuta’s skill. He can feel himself getting weaker, slowly but surely. Whether this is a question of resolve, or life force, or simply the expert way in which Yuta laves his tongue over the underside of Mark’s dick is indeterminable. The fingers in Yuta’s hair tighten, tugging him this way and that. Mark’s head tips to one side, cheek pillowed on his own shoulder as he gets lost in the pleasure that washes over him. _At last,_ his soul seems to say. _At last, I am complete._ The hollow of Yuta’s cheeks, the tear gathering at the corner of his eye speak to Yuta’s enjoyment too. 

When he swallows around the crown of Mark’s cock it is too much for either of them to bear, and yet they keep going. Mark’s hand grips Yuta’s hair tight, steadying him in case his hips give without his permission. Yuta just nods, a barely perceptible motion, and closes his eyes.

Mark taps his sunken cheek with his free hand. He stares down into Yuta’s face, relishing in the surprise. He isn’t the only one that can sneak up on someone, after all.

This all is just foreplay, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it. His moans, quiet and restrained as they are, do not reverberate off the chapel walls the way he knows they will soon. Still, he looks into Yuta’s glowing eyes and sees that his demon is sated, and this pleases him all the more. It is worse, when Yuta reaches up, drags splayed palms across his chest. 

When he tweaks one nipple Mark swears he hears the prayers of strangers in his ears.

He could answer every one if it were with Yuta’s mouth around him.

Eventually, though, this is not enough for his incubus, and Yuta pulls away with a lewd pop. His lips are slick with drool that runs down his chin. His grin is brilliant and so, so unholy, the sharpness of his teeth something that Mark catches on every single time. Tonight he threatens to tear open and spill forth every drop of blood that has ever beat through his veins on Yuta’s behalf. “Get on your knees with me,” he says, garbled with the soreness of his throat after the wreck Mark has made of it. “Let us pray, hm?”

Yuta does not pray. More than once he’s caught Mark doing so out of obligation and never joined him. But when Mark sinks to his own quivering knees, Yuta clasps his hands around Mark’s, pushes them together in the requisite position.

Mark does not say anything, kisses the swollen bow of his upper lip like an opening. “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” he begins, looking upon Yuta with the same worship that has been bestowed upon him all this time, “hallowed be Thy name.”

Impatient as ever Yuta uses the strength his newly-restored body has been granted to push them over, that they are lying horizontal. “Don’t stop,” he asks, even as his own cock presses through the fabric of his slacks. “Please, don’t stop.” 

“Thy kingdom come,” Mark stammers out as Yuta grinds against him, “Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” The words come second nature, but that’s nothing compared to animal instinct. He pauses to kiss Yuta again, licking into his mouth to taste the salt of his own cock on Yuta’s tongue. 

“Give us this day our daily bread--” and here he raises a thigh to press against the hardness positioned between Yuta’s toned thighs, “and forgive us of our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Yuta’s mouth finds his neck, bites down on the place where it meets his shoulder, the supple flesh giving way beneath near-fangs. His head tips back against the carpet and he gasps out the end of the prayer between moans. 

“Lead us not into temptation,” he bites off the word with a whimper as Yuta shifts his hips, grinds against his own aching sex, “but deliver us from evil.” 

He wants, with everything that he is and everything that he has ever been, and has never wanted so badly, and it has not occurred to him that waiting should be so hard until this very night.

“Amen,” says Yuta first, irreverent with it as he smirks his own wanting down at Mark.

“Amen,” Mark echoes, hollow now that Yuta’s no longer pressed against him.

“This is going to hurt, my darling,” Yuta purrs, reaching around Mark’s hips and giving his ass a harsh squeeze. “It is going to hurt you.” As if to soothe the sting of his promises he dusts his lips across Mark’s parted, waiting mouth. “You will remember me inside you for days to come, and you will bear the mark of me upon your skin long after I’m done, and you will have sustained me in exchange for all the pain you’ve bore for me.” That hand that had been exploring his skin brushes against the top of Mark’s thigh. There rests a tattoo, the bind between the pair of them, a design of Yuta’s. “I will make you hurt and bleed and bend until you nearly break.”

Mark grins against Yuta’s mouth. “I hope that’s true,” he says, head rushing with it, dizzy with desperate need. He grips at Yuta’s collar, holding him steady as their hips rock together. “Fuck me here,” he says. “Fuck me with God watching.”

Yuta’s fingertips brush the base of the plug buried deep inside Mark, and he pulls it out so slowly and carefully that Mark swears he will burn with it. “You’re so needy,” he muses, setting the toy aside on the heap that Mark’s clothes have become. “Almost as if you’re the one who needs this to survive.” From his back pocket he pulls a plastic packet of lube. He rests it against Mark’s chest and unbuttons his slacks. Too impatient by far. He doesn’t even strip properly. Mark hates this, just for a moment, just before he feels the precome-slick press of Yuta’s crown against his entrance.

“Please,” gasps Mark, clutching at Yuta’s shoulders, his spine, the tail of his shirt. “Please, don’t tease me.”

“Close your eyes, my love,” demures Yuta. “Pretend they are watching. Pretend that they are praying for you to be good for me, and for God, and for them.”

And Mark does, damn him. He imagines the heat of a thousand eyes upon his naked form, and arches up into Yuta’s hips as his dick twitches mightily. It is only when Yuta lines up, slick with lube, that he settles back into his own body. He hooks his knees around the small of Yuta’s back, ready to lift himself up.

Yuta laughs, mouth pressed to the hollow of Mark’s clavicle. “You’re ready, darling?” he asks.

“Always ready for you,” Mark sighs, head lolling to one side, fingers brushing through Yuta’s hair before digging into the nape of his neck.

And then Yuta pushes inside him, slow torture in the practised, singular cant of his hips. When he fills Mark completely, he stills. “Pray for me, my pet,” he says in a whisper, a drop of sweat collecting in the hollow at the base of his throat. “Pray that I live forever, that I can make you feel this good, and this _mine_ for the rest of your life.” He draws back. He thrusts, hard. Mark cries out to God, to Yuta, to everything in between, a wordless plea that pleasure might take him even as pain does.

The hand Mark has kept at the nape of Yuta’s neck scratches down his skin, feeling every notch of his spine on the way. He digs his nails in, clutches tight, the other hand at Yuta’s cheek to draw him into a kiss. It is better this way, he thinks, to transfer energy as much as he can and quickly. His ankles lock together behind Yuta’s back, forcing them closer together just as much as changing the angle of Yuta buried inside him. He moans, seeing stars, and clings tighter so that he does not simply blow away.

He is not long for this world, not when Yuta makes him feel so owned, so prized. Every thrust of Yuta inside him reminds him of it -- that regardless of a brand he does or doesn’t wear he is possessed completely. 

It is here, under the watchful eyes of a God he once believed in, that he is able to fall apart in the truest and most vulnerable sense. Yuta lavishes him with attention, with murmured praises and encouragements. “You always do so well, my love,” he says, breath hot against the shell of Mark’s ear. He, too, has slipped his arm beneath the curve of Mark’s back, to scratch down the soft space between his shoulder blades, the spot where his skin dimples just above the curve of his ass.

All the while Yuta pounds into him, filling Mark until he’s sure he can feel the crown of Yuta’s cock pressing just so as to break out of his lower abdomen. He makes a sound of warning, and Yuta’s nails -- claws, now, because when he looks into Yuta’s face he sees the obsidian, white-eyed demon lurking just beneath the surface -- scrape bloody trails down Mark’s back.

“I pray that you,” Mark stammers out, “that you live forever, that you hurt me like this forever, that I give my life to you and only you--”

Yuta growls out a warning of his own, biting into Mark’s shoulder so savagely that he draws blood there, too. His pace becomes faster, and _God, please, let him keep going_. Mark’s thighs draw tighter round Yuta’s hips, forcing them together, dying for release that will not come unless someone touches him, even when Yuta’s cock brushes up against that sweetly sinful bundle of nerves buried deep inside Mark’s ass. “Please,” Mark whimpers in spite of himself, peripherally aware of the smell of iron and rust as it fills the minute space between their bodies. He arcs his lower back, rutting uselessly against Yuta’s navel, threatening to fill it with come if only he could just--

Yuta wraps a hand around him and it’s with a few hurried strokes that Mark finishes, release shooting sticky between their bodies. He doesn’t stop when Mark comes, and keeps jerking him even as he’s destroying him from the inside out. Mark, even now, can feel corruption black and brooding spread throughout him, injected wickedly into him. It makes the kick his legs give worth it, and Yuta clinging to him, keeping him in place lets him lean into the oversensitivity even as his body begs for relief. _It’s too much,_ he tries to say, but his mouth will not let him.

Instead he prays aloud. “I want you to be with me like this forever,” he gasps out, chest heaving, blood trailing down his shoulder all the way to his sternum. “I want to be yours and only yours.”

And that must be the push that Yuta needs, because a few stuttered jerks of his own hips later and Mark can feel his aching, ragdoll body warming from the inside. For good measure Yuta pushes into him a few more times, until Mark can feel himself gushing with his demon’s seed. The sound of it spattering against the floor is one that makes him want to go again until the both of them are completely spent, and the only thing that stops him from asking for it is the peril of being discovered when those who work in this holy place come in tomorrow morning. 

They stay like this, suspended in one another’s arms, Yuta’s eyes flashing something devious and bright. “Only mine?” he asks, amused. “Is that what you really want, little human?”

Embarrassed, Mark glances away, but does not hide the assent his body gives as his cock limply twitches its interest. “Yes,” he whispers, voice hoarse from all the prayers he’s given out tonight.

Yuta’s face, flushed with a wealth of energy, hovers before his own. His eyes bore into Mark’s. “I would do that,” he says, “for you.”

And Mark can think of no better covenant into which he might enter. If he will miss Heaven there’s no point in missing by two inches.

“Should I fix you up?” asks Yuta, mortal concern taking over as he inspects closely the wound he’s left in Mark’s shoulder.

Mark groans, shakes his head. “I’ll just… there’s a first aid kit here somewhere, I just… can we stay like this a little longer?” He does not wish his parasite to leave his side, not yet, not when his heart is still pounding and he’s barely caught his breath. “Stay with me.” His fingers tangle loosely in the collar of Yuta’s rumpled dress shirt. He puts on his best face.

Yuta just laughs, an exerted huff, his own limbs starting to spindle out from beneath him. They collapse to the floor of the stage, tumbling together til they’re chest-to-chest and they can look into one another’s eyes to their content.

When finally they decide to part, Mark still gently oozing with bloody slashes that soak through the cotton of his shirt, Yuta presses the toy he’d given so long ago to Mark inside him. “Perhaps this will remind you later,” he says, “of what it’s like for me to fill you.”

Mark prays it keeps him warm for the long weeks to come, and that whatever God is up there has seen him for what he is, and ignored -- not forgiven -- his sins. After all, if they are done with Yuta, he will keep committing them lifelong.

**Author's Note:**

> i learned the lord's prayer at a meeting of alcoholics anonymous
> 
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